The Gnome smiled. Ah, my revenge is imminent. Maybe not in the form of physical violence, but psychological. “I’m sorry, my friend,” the Gnome said with an edge, trying to mimic the tone the wizard had given him upon requesting the book. “That book is not allowed to leave the library.”
The wizard began to raise his voice in protest, but received a sidelong glance from some passing Elves, and lowered it before he drew any more attention to himself and his band of travelers. He put his knuckles on the circulation desk—which had been scrubbed clean and sterilized with magic and the Oriceran equivalent of hand sanitizer—and leaned forward.
“Give us a break, please,” Salem begged.
“I’m sorry, I can’t.” The Gnome waved one of his compatriots over. This Gnome wore a hat with a flower. The flower was currently smiling, but as it, and the Gnome who wore it, got a good look at the wizard at the desk, it bared its teeth.
“I’m sorry. Such books are ancient relics, and cannot be checked out,” the new Gnome said.
Salem rolled his eyes, a gesture Claire appreciated, and relented. “Fine, we’ll be just over there.”
“If you try any funny business,” the Gnome with the hat said, “we will find you and punish you.”
Yeah, give him a late fee, Claire taunted in her mind. That’ll show him. She leaned forward, her eyes boring into the two Gnomes’, and in a low voice she said, “Not cool, my little friends. Not cool at all. I’m totally gonna slander you in my next story.”
The hatless Gnome opened his mouth to retort, but Tabby cut him off. “Good luck finding us with your Elven lawyers!”
With that, the two girls turned around, leaving Agnes alone at the desk. The witch stood there awkwardly. “Sorry about all this,” she offered with a weak smile. “Don’t worry. Nothing will come of the book, and no one will read the Earthling’s stories.” Then she turned and headed toward the table where Salem currently sat, leafing through the pages of the old tome.
The two Gnomes exchanged a confused look, and the hatless one shrugged. “At least they didn’t pee on us.”
“You’re sick,” the other Gnome replied.
“What? I’m just saying—”
“Enough. Keep an eye on them and make sure they do not try any funny business.”
Hatless nodded gravely.
“Here it is,” Salem announced loudly. He was shushed in seconds by a nearby Gnome, who was studying the spines of books in the love potions section—a part of the library that had proven popular.
“Sorry,” Agnes said to him.
Salem was so engrossed in the book that he hadn’t even noticed the Gnome shush him. On the torn and tattered pages, the legend of the Rogue Dragons was hastily scrawled in red ink. The ink wasn’t the least bit faded, surprisingly; it was as stark and bright as fresh blood.
Claire squinted, trying to read the writing, but she was unsuccessful. It was written in a language reminiscent of Tolkien’s Elvish, with dots over letters and elegant curves and swells. Tabby didn’t have much luck in the way of reading it, either, so the two girls were resigned to hearing Salem’s rendition of the words.
“The Rogue Dragons. Ah, this brings me back to the days of my youth,” Salem said, a gleam of tears in his eyes.
“That was long ago,” Agnes said with a smile on her face.
“Easy, there,” Salem replied. “Your own youth wasn’t much closer.”
“Cute,” Tabby mumbled, nudging Claire.
“Yeah, yeah, go on. We’re short on time, remember?”
“Right.” Salem licked his finger and flipped the page of the large book. The sound the old paper made was what Claire imagined a mummy rising from its sarcophagus would sound like. Salem read, “ ‘The Rogue Dragons roamed Oriceran long ago, years before the rise of Rhazdon, so the legend goes’.”
Agnes grimaced at the name ‘Rhazdon’.
“Who was that?” Claire asked.
“Evil,” Salem answered matter-of-factly.
“Beyond evil,” Agnes echoed.
Salem put his hand on Agnes’s shoulder. “It’s okay. Rhazdon is gone now.”
Agnes put her hand on top of his, looking longingly into his eyes. She nodded. “Go on.”
“Right, right.” He flipped the pages again. “Let’s skip to the downfall.”
“The rumored downfall,” Tabby said. She was still skeptical about the concept of dragons. Large spider-like man creatures, sure. Witches and wizards, yep. But dragons? No way. That’s the stuff of fairytales. So far, her time in Oriceran was nothing like a fairytale. She had the fading red line around her neck from when the Arachnid had attacked her to remind her of that.
“Ah, here we go!” Salem said. “Odarth the Bright.”
Claire looked at the page. There were no words on it that she could understand, but the drawing below the words was universal. It was a large dragon, like the ones she’d seen in movies and on the covers of her father’s epic fantasy books. From its mouth came a stream of fire, dusting the tops of a village below. The art caused fear to strike Claire’s heart. If that thing is real…then we are in way over our heads.
Salem turned the page again, mumbling to himself, “The downfall, the downfall…Ah! There.”
Downfall? Claire thought. How can anyone bring down a beast like that?
Sure enough, there was another drawing. This one showed a man with a sword, and the dragon, its wings spread wide, hovering over him and breathing fire. The fire had struck the sword, and seemed to be absorbed by the blade.
“Here we go. ‘Anwyn, the Dragon Slayer’.” Salem began to read from the passage next to the picture. “ ‘Odarth the Bright, after nearly destroying the city of Tonicia, was chased by a legion of dragon hunters, who’d already taken down the other six. A great battle was fought near the Cave of Delusion, nearly resulting in the entire destruction of the hunters. All of them perished except for Anwyn, a lowly warrior only brought into the party for his telepathic abilities. Anwyn had been known to converse with animals and beasts alike, and
